Scars Beyond The Blade
by Aquaria Identity 07
Summary: Bifur is the one Dwarf that Bilbo does not know very well. In fact, the Hobbit tries to steer clear of the dazed, axe-embedded Dwarf as much as possible. But when he begins to notice Bifur withdrawing more and more into himself, shutting out even his family, and he stumbles upon the Dwarf butchering his arm with a bloody knife, how can the Hobbit avoid him now? Hurt!Bifur.
1. Intro

**Scars Beyond The Blade**

**A/N: **Fresh from a Politics assignment based on the harm principle, I found myself doodling Glóin, Óin and Bifur during a lecture, and _boing!_ went the plot-bunny that jumped into my lap. :) This story was born. So please, no flames. If you're uncomfortable with the idea of self-harm and gruesome descriptions, please click the "Back" button. If you stick around, I hope you'll enjoy the intro, and we'll see how we go from here.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own "The Hobbit", which belongs to JRR Tolkien and his estate.

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**Chapter 1: Intro**

He grunted as he pressed the knife-blade against his skin, wincing as he felt a searing pain numb his arm as he ran the blade's sharp edges across the top of it. The deadly edge broke through the flimsy dam, causing a scarlet wave to trickle out slowly. It began to gain momentum, the crimson river flowing faster with every anxious heartbeat that sounded in his chest. It took every ounce of his being to keep himself from crying out.

He blinked away the tears brimming in his eyes. He inwardly chastised himself for even _daring_ to tear up, so he moved the knife-blade upwards to a patch of virgin skin, biting back a hiss as the merciless steel was once more coated with a cherry-red layer. That patch of pierced skin, no longer virgin, throbbed as it cried its own rivulets of bloody tears.

Feeling that he paid his penance for the night, he took out a thick piece of cloth from his pocket, wrapping it tightly around the bloody instrument before pocketing the whole thing.

As the Dwarf gazed upon his handiwork with a pained expression, his eyes flickering over his arm adorned with red ribbons, running down in abandon, he marvelled once more that his hands were capable of both making beautiful, detailed things and inflicting damage on the one that deserved it the most: himself.

_A penance, _he reminded himself unwaveringly, _a penance for what I am, for being nothing but a hindrance to the others on this journey._

At first, he had joined the quest out of loyalty and enthusiasm, to help reclaim their home that had been stolen from them. Old injuries be damned, he was going to go along on this quest, kicking and screaming if he must. His heart was gladdened when his two kinsmen decided to come along too, instead of telling him to stay behind. How he wanted to show them that there was still life in him yet, that he was capable of keeping himself in check.

That he had not lost _all_ of his control.

But Mahal, how wrong he was.

He knew he couldn't help it when he had his flare-ups, or when he spoke in rapid Khuzdûl to express a point, or when he resorted to Iglishmêk that wasn't quite in keeping with the other's understanding … it did not bother him at first.

But when he began to notice their responses for every time he acted out of sorts, it began to gnaw at him slowly from the inside, until it left him hollow with guilt and shame.

It was simple: when Thorin would look exasperated when he had another outburst, slowing them down whilst riding on the road; when Dwalin would mutter something under his breath when he picked a flower or two; when Balin would sigh when he stared off into the distance whilst the older Dwarf spoke; when Glóin would grumble about him being slightly unhinged during a hunt; when Óin tut-tutted whenever the healer regularly checked his head-wound; when Dori would roll his eyes when he was set off; when Nori would grin teasingly when he provoked the setting-off; when Fíli and Kíli would shake their heads at each other knowingly when he spoke; when Ori would regard him with doe-like eyes and shy away when he noticed the young Dwarf staring; when his cousins had to hold him back and calm him down after making a scene, tiredly trying to explain his actions to the others as if he were a child; when the Hobbit would look upon him like he was some sort of freak …

The moment he realised the meanings behind their responses, he was shattered, beyond being put back together.

At that moment, he hated himself for who he was.

An out-of-control, unstable, temperamental Dwarf with an Orc axe protruding from his forehead.

_A hindrance._

Out of pure guilt, he punished himself.

_A penance._

He began small, using the exact same knife he used for carving wood into beautiful toys to make little nicks on his hand when no one was looking. On the road, no one would notice the flash of silver and the sudden appearance of an open scratch on his hand. Even whilst he was whittling, he would let the knife slip intentionally and cut his fingers. Once or twice, Óin would have to tend to his wounds, tut-tutting at the other Dwarf's supposed carelessness, but never did the thought enter anyone's mind that the Dwarf, usually so nimble with his fingers, was now suddenly being clumsy at his craft.

When it got too much for him, when he sensed their disapproval when he was being _himself_, he would hide away, pretending to go and relieve himself or something; the knife probed higher on his arm; cuts became deeper; the lines became longer; the blood came gushing; the scars became frequent; the pain became _too_ unbearable.

This was the price he had to pay, to remind himself what he was to the others, and for that he was sorry.

Pulling down his sleeve, careful not to let the blood soak through the material, and replacing his leather vambrace – wincing as he felt the stinging pain – he turned to go back to the clearing where he and the others camped. He was on first watch, and he knew if Thorin had woken up and found that he was not at his post … he dared not think of the consequences.

Sitting by the fire, weakly cradling his arm, Bifur wondered once more why his hands were capable of making things that brought joy to others' hearts, yet it was also able to agitate _his _own heart as he slowly bled it out.

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**A/N: **I could've chosen any Dwarf – hell, I could've chosen Bilbo. But doodling Bifur causing harm to himself made me choose him. I wanted to show that he's actually smarter than people think, that there's more to him than being the Dwarf with Orc axe in his forehead, even if he's depressed here. :( Cover-art's coming soon.

Hoped you enjoyed it!

Reviews are welcome!

*~AI07~* ;)


	2. Belonging

**Scars Beyond The Blade**

**Chapter 2: Belonging**

It would be untruthful to say that Bilbo Baggins did not feel out-of-place among the group of Dwarves.

It had been a week or so since the Hobbit ran out of Bag End, leaving the comforts of home behind in the Shire in exchange for adventure, roughing it out in the outdoors and having thirteen Dwarves and a wizard for company. Bilbo blamed his Tookish side for getting involved in this venture, but inwardly he knew it would be pointless to gripe about his current position. He would just have to make do with the situation, and to get through this journey he would have to try to improve his relations with his companions.

The Hobbit knew that many of the Dwarves didn't think much of him nor of his skills as a burglar - on that latter aspect Bilbo would agree with, because he just _wasn't _a blooming burglar, no matter what Gandalf said, but a part of him refused to let himself be further underestimated by his companions just because he was smaller and unused to conflict and … well, because he was a "gentle" Hobbit. He knew that he would have to accept their customs and attitudes in order to survive this journey, but they had to realise that he, although completely different from them, should be treated respectfully and equally, and he worked hard to get that notion across.

Of course, it was still a work in progress, with varying degrees of success.

Balin was a kind, intelligent Dwarf, and Bilbo found it easier to converse with him during the first few days. Sometimes they would sit together by the camp-fire, and the senior Dwarf was more than happy to answer any questions that the Hobbit would ask about Erebor or about the history behind the line of Durin. Dori was polite and delightful to talk to, and although Dori had a fastidious nature about him and a tendency to smother his little brother, the Dwarf was sophisticated and cultured. He and the Hobbit would talk about wines and the arts, nursing cups of chamomile tea all the while, and he would cluck sympathetically when Bilbo became even slightly homesick as his thoughts drifted back to Bag End.

Ori was also polite, although quieter than his older brothers and the other Dwarves in general. Bilbo was more than pleased to speak to someone who shared his passion for books. Ori had a journal in which he wrote and sketched, and the shy Dwarf would blush with pleasure when Bilbo praised his artwork and elegant script. The Hobbit reckoned that praising the young scribe did him the world of good, especially since Dori constantly hovered over him as if he were still a child.

Óin was contradictory in some aspects, in that he possessed both a gentle and feisty nature. Nevertheless, Bilbo enjoyed the partially-deaf Dwarf's company. Well-read and more easy-going than he let on, Óin could be courteous one minute then let fly a volley of cussing when it suited him the next, and he was easy to talk to, provided that he could hear you. Sometimes they would speak of plants and herbs, or often they would sit in contented silence, appreciating the sounds of nature around them, the healer holding his ear-trumpet high to catch a bird's tweet or the sound of the leaves rustling in the wind.

Fíli and Kíli were lively young things, and they were absolutely fascinated with Bilbo and Hobbits in general. They would sit with Bilbo, asking him questions about his life in the Shire and Hobbit culture, and he was touched that they wanted to learn about him. The two brothers would include him in conversation, joking about this and that, telling stories him about their youth and so on. Bilbo would watch them with an admiring yet worried eye as they sparred with one another, and it warmed his heart when they smiled at him and said "Don't worry, Mr Boggins, we know what we're doing". Fíli and Kíli certainly grew on the Hobbit, whether or not the "Boggins" bit was said on purpose.

Bofur and Bombur were the kind of Dwarves who would give the clothes off their back (barring Bofur's precious hat, of course) to someone who would need it. The brothers were talkative and friendly – or rather, Bofur did enough talking for the both of them whilst Bombur was busy eating something. Bofur had a great sense of humour, even if it did border on morbid at times, but he was cheerful, easygoing and open, and he and Bilbo grew particularly close. Bombur was quieter, but he was just as friendly. Bilbo and the brothers would sit over Bombur's fantastic stew, exchanging recipes and having a good laugh at Bofur's stories. Then they would smoke their pipes, blowing smoke-rings or humming tunes under the star-lit sky, and Bilbo loved every minute of it …

Meanwhile, on the other side of the sibling spectrum …

Dwalin cut an intimidating figure. He was often found sharpening his weapons, among which were two axes - scarily enough - named "Grasper" and "Keeper", sparring with Fíli and Kíli, or he would be conversing with Thorin or Balin. The tall, bald Dwarf took no nonsense, and when it came to sense of humour, he was (definitely) no Bofur. However, Bilbo suspected that Dwalin had a soft side: the warrior Dwarf would gaze proudly at Fíli and Kíli as they sparred, praising them as he patted their shoulders affectionately, to their delight. Little Ori would flush when Dwalin sat near him, and goodness knows what they spoke about, but he certainly said things that made Ori laugh and made his brothers look suspiciously in their direction.

Nori was an enigma, really: the problem was that Bilbo did not know the middle Ri brother as much as his siblings, and he did not know if the star-shaped-haired Dwarf liked or disliked the Hobbit. However, Bilbo knew Nori to be cunning, and there always was a mischievous glint in his eyes when he was up to no good. Nori always took chances and he never missed an opportunity to create some mayhem, such as trying to pilfer Bofur's hat (he escaped with only a couple of bruises) or pinch a coin or two from Glóin's pocket (and he would escape with his teeth intact when the others had to step in).

Glóin was like Óin, only grumpier, more outspoken and more feisty: other than when he spoke of his beloved wife and son, the fiery-haired Dwarf kept his gentle side well-hidden. Bilbo never dreamed of getting on his bad side, which he witnessed when Nori attempted to make off with one or two of Glóin's possessions. Bilbo was always careful around Glóin, speaking politely and respectfully to the Dwarf, though his gruff voice, his muttering under his breath and unimpressed stares didn't exactly help.

Then there was Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of their Company. If anyone doubted Bilbo, Thorin doubted him the most. The distinguished Dwarf made it a point to show his disdain for the Hobbit when he could, keeping his distance or muttering a not-so-kind remark, and during those moments Bilbo didn't exactly feel like he belonged to the group. Thorin often kept to himself, lost in thoughts of reclaiming Erebor as his kingdom, or he would speak with Gandalf or Dwalin quietly, and he would regard Bilbo with his ice-blue eyes when the Hobbit made attempts to interact with him. No, Thorin was not a Dwarf to interfere with.

But compared to Bifur …

Oh, his happy hat, _Bifur _…

Now _there _was a Dwarf that Bilbo didn't mind not knowing. Wild, unkempt, black hair, framing a cheerless face with the blade of an Orc axe sticking out of his forehead; an equally wild black beard streaked with white; brown eyes that would glaze over when he stared off into the distance; rough Khuzdûl, accompanied by Iglishmêk that would include frantic gestures and grunts; a temper that altogether scared the Hobbit witless, especially when Bifur had his outbursts or was provoked; strange habits that included picking flowers or roasting vegetables over a camp-fire; a tendency to stare at you, if not through you, making you feel totally uncomfortable … even thinking of the Dwarf made Bilbo shudder.

Bilbo felt sorry for Bofur and Bombur, who had to deal with Bifur's behaviour when he acted out of sorts. The Orc axe, they had explained, had damaged their cousin's impulse control, and he could no longer speak in the common tongue as well. The brothers constantly watched over their older cousin, making sure he didn't stray too far when he picked flowers, making sure he ate his food, and importantly, watching out for his flare-ups. When Bifur exploded, he was almost unstoppable, and his cousins would step in, physically holding him back and calming him down with soothing words. Although they didn't show it, Bilbo knew that Bifur's behaviour was taking its toll on Bofur and Bombur. When Bilbo tried to ask about it, they just smiled sadly at him, saying, "He can't help it. He's family, and we have to look after him as he did for us when we were wee lads."

_Still … poor Bofur and Bombur._

So yes, Bilbo Baggins did not know Bifur too well, though this suited the Hobbit fine. There was nothing else that Bilbo thought was worth knowing about the manic Dwarf.

That is, until he stumbled upon Dwarf behind a bush one night, holding a bloody knife in hand and cradling a butchered arm.

Now _that_ certainly changed things …

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**A/N: **Quite a comparison to how Bifur thinks the others perceive _him_, am I right? ;) Cover-art will come soon, though I am currently scanner-less.

Reviews are welcome!

*~AI07~* :)


	3. Beginning

**Scars Beyond The Blade**

**Chapter 3: Beginning**

The day that Bifur nearly fell off his pony was only the beginning of Bilbo's suspicions that something was wrong with the Dwarf.

The sun in the cerulean-blue sky was burning bright, and its searing rays bore down on the Company, who were sweltering in their heavy clothes. Even Bilbo, who was dressed lightly in comparison to the others, was sweating profusely, taking large gulps of water from his canister every few minutes to quench his never-ending thirst. It galled him when he constantly had to wipe his forehead with his forearm, the sweat soaking into his clothing. _Is there no end to this blasted heat? _The Hobbit felt sorry for the ponies, who were also affected by the high temperatures. They trudged along slowly on the road, struggling under the weight of both the Dwarves' supplies and the merciless, hot sunlight. Poor Myrtle was so tired, not even the apple that Bilbo gave her could refresh her.

Gandalf and the other Dwarves were just as hot and bothered as the Hobbit: Gandalf fanned himself with his hat, visibly irritated when Dori asked him to do something about the scorching weather; Thorin shed his heavy coat, trying to coax his pony to move faster; Dwalin cooled his perspiring head with water from his canister; Fíli had quickly tied Kíli's hair into a pony-tail before tying up his own hair, as their long hair was hot and uncomfortable against their necks; Óin took off his gloves and rolled up his sleeves; Glóin's face was red with sweat, and he was complaining under his breath; Balin wiped his sweaty face with a wet cloth every few minutes; Dori made Ori take off his scarf and roll up his sleeves, making sure he drank enough water; Nori, seeking shade, tried his luck once more and attempted to swipe Bofur's hat; Bofur, who was riding near Bilbo, was too hot to tell any jokes or to comment on the ghastly heat, and he was preoccupied with moving his hat out of the reach of Nori's sticky fingers; and dear Bombur was a big ball of sweat, beads of perspiration dripping down here, there and everywhere. His clothes were nearly soaked through, his bald spot was glistening and red, and he looked altogether uncomfortable.

But it was Bifur's reaction to the heat that really surprised the Hobbit.

When Bilbo turned to his left, he saw the manic Dwarf had leaned forward on his pony, his arms wrapped tightly around Bungle's neck. He rested his head against the pony's mane like a pillow, his head tilted to the side, looking to the left, so that the Orc axe was not pressed into the pony's neck and that the back of his head was facing the Hobbit. Bilbo could hear Bifur panting, and he thought that maybe the Dwarf was just as bothered by the burning sun like the rest of them.

But when Bilbo looked closely at the Dwarf, debating with himself if he should ask Bifur if was alright, he nearly fell off Myrtle in surprise:

Bifur was _shivering._

In the middle of a heat-wave in the heart of the afternoon, the toy-maker was _shivering_, his whole body trembling as if he were freezing cold, and Bilbo, sweating for Middle Earth, could only stare at him in amazement.

_I don't believe this. Here we all are, melting like anything, and _Bifur _is shivering like he's got the chills. Unbelievable!_

A groan interrupted Bilbo's thoughts, and the Hobbit turned in the axe-embedded Dwarf's direction from whence the groan emitted. It was a small sound that Bifur made, but it sounded like it was full of … _pain? _Bilbo watched as the Dwarf groaned again, burying his head deeper into Bungle's mane and tightening his embrace around the pony's neck. His body was still shaking …

"Bifur, are ye alright?" called out Bofur, riding along Bilbo. His face and voice did little to hide his concern.

Without raising his head, the wild-haired Dwarf weakly lifted his right arm, signing, "_I'm fine._"

"Are ye sure?"

"_I'm fine. It's just … hot ..."_

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at this, unconvinced as he watched Bifur's arm tremble. Watching the Dwarves interact with Bifur in Iglishmêk, the Hobbit was beginning to pick up different gestures and learning what they meant so he could somewhat understand what the manic Dwarf was saying.

"Would ye like some water?" offered Bombur, riding up next to Bifur, smoothing his cousin's black hair. "Bifur? BIFUR!"

At this point, Bifur's grip had begun to loosen from around Bungle's neck, finally letting go with a tired sigh as his body began to slip off the pony's back, twisting as he was veering off to his right. His left leg was still hooked around Bungle when Bombur quickly reached forward with a yell, catching his older cousin as he fell into his arms.

Bofur yelled, riding over to Bombur and Bifur's side, leaving an open-mouthed Bilbo in his wake.

The Hobbit could clearly see Bifur's tired face, staring upwards as he lay in his younger cousin's arms. His skin, usually ruddy or fair, depending on his moods, was a sickly shade of white, with flecks of perspiration dotted on his cheeks and forehead. There were dark shadows under Bifur's eyes, and those eyes appeared sunken; lifeless, marble-like brown eyes that was even more glazed over than ever. He held his left arm with the other, holding it tightly to his chest. He had ceased his trembling now, but he still panted some, practically rasping.

To Bilbo, it was a most disturbing sight.

"Bifur, ye don't look well at all!" Bofur murmured, reaching out to feel his cousin's forehead, but Bifur sharply moved his head away from Bofur's fingers. Frowning, the hat-wearing Dwarf said, "Do you want me to get Óin to check on ye?"

Bifur shook his head furiously.

"But ye took a tumble, and ye look like Death personified. _Please _let Óin have a look at ye."

"_Rasup men_," came the gruff reply in Khuzdûl. _I am okay._

"But ye _don't _look okay, that's the problem!" cried Bombur. He also tried to feel Bifur's forehead, but the axe-embedded Dwarf refused to let anyone touch that area. "Ye'll make yeself even more sick if ye don't sort yeself out. Now for goodness sake, ye stubborn donkey, will ye stop strugglin' so and let us check ye temperature?"

"_Rasup men!_" exclaimed Bifur, making his cousins and Bilbo jump. The wild-haired Dwarf wriggled out of Bombur's grasp, settling himself on Bungle's back once more. His brown eyes were alight with a strange fire, the Hobbit noticed, as he stared at his cousins.

"_Rasup men! __Sugùl ma! Sul ghelekh barkûr ra turg!_" he barked, though it seemed to Bilbo that it took a lot of effort on the tired Dwarf's part to open his mouth and say those things. At the same time, he signed with his right arm, "_It's the heat that's gotten to me, and _**that **_is all. Th__is__ feeling will pass. You don't need __to drag __Óin __here__ to tell you that. __I am _**fine**_!_"

"Keep up, you four!" rumbled Thorin's voice, sounding impatient. "The ponies are slow enough as is – I don't want to stop them so you can catch up!"

With that proclamation, Bifur – for a moment looking embarrassed at his outburst – urged Bungle to ride faster, further ahead than his cousins and the Hobbit, who watched him retreat, trying to sit up straighter on Bungle's back and not look sick at all. He rubbed his left arm roughly with a wince before taking hold of the pony's reins.

Bilbo looked at Bofur and Bombur, and the brothers had looks of worry, tiredness and sadness etched into their faces, and he felt sheepish as he asked them, "Are you two alright?"

They smiled weakly at him. "Ah, Master Baggins, he's a handful, that cousin o' ours," said Bofur in an attempt to sound cheerful, straightening his hat. "But we're used to it, aren't we, Bombur?"

"Aye," agreed Bombur, taking out an apple from his pack. "We just have to keep watchin' him, is all. Can you understand that, Master Hobbit?"

"I'll try," answered Bilbo quietly, trotting after the two brothers as they continued on their way, wondering if he had imagined a dark-red spot seeping through the sleeve on Bifur's left arm.

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**A/N: **_Rasup men!_ _Sugùl ma! Sul ghelekh barkûr ra turg! -_** I am okay! ****Everything is fine!** **All is well with axe and beard!**

I have no idea what Bifur's pony's name is, but I'm pretty sure "Bungle" is one of the ponies' names. :) Besides, "Bungle" ... think about it ...

And so the drama really begins ...

Loving the feedback so far - it's much appreciated!

Reviews are welcome!

*~AI07~* :)


	4. Blocking

**Scars Beyond The Blade**

**Chapter 4: Blocking**

"_Rasup men._"

"I don't know what you've been tellin' your cousins, but you certainly don't look okay to me. Look up … up a bit more … there. Hold still now."

A roll of the eyes. "_I know how this works. __You don't need to remind me._"

"The way you've been actin' like a Dwarfling and puttin' off your examinations for the last few days, I thought you had forgotten," came the tart reply. "Now keep _still_, and let me do my job. The more you complain, the longer this will take. And for Mahal's sake, you don't have to roll your eyes like that!"

Bilbo watched with a sliver of amusement as Bifur grumbled something incomprehensible under his breath whilst Óin began to check on the wild-haired Dwarf's head-wound. The Hobbit, Gandalf and the Dwarves sat around the roaring fire, relaxing after dining on a fine meal made by both Bombur and Bilbo. No sooner had they set down their empty bowls, Óin suddenly materialised at Bifur's side, ready to look at his head-wound, much to the manic Dwarf's vexation, and to the obvious relief of Bofur and Bombur. The two brothers sat beside Bilbo, breathing sighs of relief as they whispered quietly to the Hobbit, "Ah, at last! If that stubborn-headed donkey won't tell us what's wrong with him, Óin'll wring the truth out of him!"

Bilbo nodded, a bit doubtful – not that he would admit it to the two brothers. After all, he did not want to spoil their happy moods. Ever since the accident with the pony three days back, Bifur seemed to be avoiding everyone. He would keep to himself, not speaking when spoken to, and he pushed away anyone who tried to speak to him with a firm "_Rasup men_". He would linger at the back of the group, never interacting with anyone, a sullen expression dominating his visage; despite his insistence that he was fine, he temporarily retained a sickly appearance for several hours, and he looked positively _frightful_, with his lank black hair, his pale skin wet with sweat and the persistent shivering. Even though by the second day he looked healthy again, he continued to block the others out, pushing them further and further away from him.

Bofur and Bombur were affected the most by the change, and Bilbo could tell that they were worried to death about their cousin's behaviour. When they too tried to interact with him, Bifur would not reply. He would stare silently at them with glassy brown eyes, his face hard as stone, not acknowledging their greetings or their overall presence. When they pressed him to speak, to tell them why he was acting so strangely, he would turn away, focusing on something in the distance for long periods of time until his two kinsmen growled in frustration and gave up.

When Bifur did happen to answer them, his eyes would narrow and his voice was low and hard as he intoned: "_Rasup men_."

At one point, Bofur looked to be on the verge of tears, and the sympathetic Hobbit felt useless because he felt there was nothing he could do to help his friends.

At some point, the brother must have had approached Óin to check on their cousin, for in the last three days, the healer would appear beside Bifur as they rode along on the road, looking the Dwarf up and down with a clinical eye whilst he attempted to examine him. However, Bifur would push Óin away with that infernal "_Rasup men_" and urge his pony to ride faster and further ahead, as if he were trying to escape from the possibility of being looked at. But Óin, bless his beard, never gave up, finally deciding to corner the axe-embedded Dwarf straight after supper, when Bifur's belly was so full that he could not move, ie. make his escape.

Despite the Dwarf's protests, Óin dragged a thoroughly peeved Bifur to one side of the camp, sitting him down whilst the healer stood before him. He looked down at him with a small frown as he took in the other's appearance. Bifur was looking somewhat pale, and there were moments when his body would shudder and be still once more.

Bilbo watched as Óin cupped Bifur's head in his gloved hands, ordering the black-haired Dwarf to look up as he tilted it upwards. In the light of the fire, the rusting axe-blade, protruding obscenely from Bifur's forehead, glinted dangerously, and the Hobbit inwardly shuddered at the thought of being struck by such a terrifying, ugly weapon and having to walk around with that thing lodged in your skull forever. _Can't be as bad as being incinerated by a __fire-__breathing dragon, __but it must feel bad all the same._

Gently, Óin tilted Bifur's head from side to side, his brown eyes regarding the wound at different angles. Supporting the side of Bifur's face with his left hand, the healer lightly pressed the area surrounding the axe-blade with his other hand, feeling Bifur wince beneath his touch.

"Everythin' seems to be fine," Óin said softly, pressing the area again and watching Bifur's reaction. "Do you still get headaches?"

Bifur gestured with his hands. "_Now and again._"

"Have you been having any more faintin' spells since the fall?"

"_No._"

"Do you feel light-headed now?"

"_No._"

"Does the shiverin' still persist? And what about the sweatin'?"

"_No. No more sweating, either._"

Óin raised an eyebrow at the pale Dwarf, who tried in vain to contain his trembling. The healer removed his glove, and Bilbo watched as he pressed a cool hand against a clearly reluctant Bifur's forehead, checking his temperature. The hand moved swiftly to the wild-haired Dwarf's neck, then to the palms of Bifur's hands, resting there only for barely a second before Bifur pulled his hands away roughly, looking at the other Dwarf with a highly annoyed glare.

Ignoring the dirty look, Óin replaced his glove as he said, "Looks like you have a fever – though I daresay you've already had it for some time without tellin' anyone."

"The bugger!" said Bofur, not-so-very quietly under his breath. He looked furious. "Sittin' with a bloody fever, and he didn't even say anythin'! "_Rasup men_", my arse!"

"Maybe he didn't want to worry you two?" offered Bilbo, though the looks he received from Bofur and Bombur told him not to say anything more.

"_So what if I have a fever?_" Bifur signed furiously, glaring up at Óin with burning eyes. "_Why should I have told anyone? That's my business._"

"You forget, Bifur, that I'm a healer, and that's _my _business: to make other people's illnesses _my _business," replied Óin sharply, his tone making Bilbo flinch inwardly. Beside him, Bofur and Bombur drew sharp intakes of breath. Sitting a little away from them, Fíli and Kíli - who overheard Óin's words - stopped talking, looking at each other sheepishly before resuming their conversation to make up for the small, awkward silence.

Even Bifur's gaze fell to the ground, his black locks hiding his blush, and altogether he looked shame-faced.

Óin's tone became gentle as he spoke again, resting a hand on Bifur's shoulder. "I want to help you, Bifur. We all do, especially your cousins. There's no need to pretend that you're in good health, and there's definitely no point in tryin' to persuade a healer that you're alright, when clearly you aren't. If you can't be open with us, how do you expect us to help you?"

"_A fever's nothing to worry about,_" signed Bifur indignantly, before he gently prised Óin's hand off his shoulder. "_There's no need to be concerned about me. __I'll be fine. I'll still even take first watch tonight – you see if I don't!_"

The healer sighed tiredly, and Bilbo suppressed the need to do exactly the same. To be on watch with a fever was utter madness, in his opinion – but then, Bifur was not your average Dwarf, lest he forget.

"Fine," Óin said finally, deciding not to argue with Bifur. "But if you're goin' on first watch, be it only for at least two hours, and no more than that. Then, I want you to wake up either myself or one of your cousins so you can get some rest. Do you understand?"

Bifur narrowed his eyes, silent for a few seconds before he eventually nodded in agreement.

The Hobbit watched as Óin retrieved a herbal remedy from his pack, giving it to the axe-embedded Dwarf with strict instructions on how and when to use it.

"And make sure he _does _use it," he told Bofur and Bombur when he was done. "Fever's a terrible thing, and it needs to be taken care of, otherwise he won't fare well on this journey."

"Aye, we'll do just that, Óin," said Bofur, nodding. His voice became a whisper. "Thank ye so much, Óin. We appreciate yer help, Bombur and I. We really do."

Bombur nodded in the affirmative.

Óin waved the thanks aside. "'Tis nothin', you two. I'm glad to help out wherever I can."

He glanced in the direction of Bifur, who was rubbing his left arm, and Bilbo noticed the sadness that lingered in the healer's brown eyes. "He can be a handful, that Bifur," Óin murmured quietly, shaking his head forlornly, "but he can't help it, can he? It's just his way since the accident with the axe, is all."

"Aye," said Bombur, smiling sadly. "He's a good one, our Bifur is. Just a wee bit unstable, but manageable."

Bilbo did not deign to offer his own opinion on the matter. Instead, he watched in silence as Bifur pinched his left arm twice or thrice, a pained frown tugging at the wild-haired Dwarf's lips. He looked terribly unhappy as he pinched himself, but when he looked up and his gaze met that of the Hobbit, he dropped his left arm and turned away, a blush rising to his cheeks.

And needless to say, Bilbo was stunned by the Dwarf's reaction.

_He's acting very strangely – stranger than normal, anyway. Either way, I don't think I want to know._

By all things living and breathing, how wrong he was going to be.

* * *

Whether it was the slight breeze that brushed against his body, or the rather loud crackling of the fire, or the spectacular snore from Bombur sleeping beside him, Bilbo woke up suddenly, sitting up straight in his bed in fright, with his heart beating fast in his chest.

And, to his immense surprise, as his eyes wandered to the fire, Bifur was nowhere in sight.

The Dwarf in question was not sitting by the fire, nor was he sitting near any of the sleeping Dwarves or Gandalf. Bilbo looked all around him, trying to find a clue about where Bifur could be, but there was no trace of him anywhere.

A shiver of fear ran down Bilbo's spine, and the Hobbit felt uneasy. The thought of being vulnerable to attack during the night weighed down on his mind almost every day, and Bifur's absence only served to fuel his anxiety. With no one on watch, who would wake them up and warn them about any oncoming dangers? Who would watch them as they slept?

Only then did the thought enter Bilbo's anxious mind: _What happened to Bifur? He didn't wander off, did he? He probably did just that, the bothersome Dwarf! Picking flowers at a time like this, I reckon, and leaving us all open to attack! Ugh, even after he swore he would take first watch._

_Really, Bilbo, you're being rather unkind to Bifur, since you hardly know him, _rang a sensible voice in his head, interrupting his flurried thoughts. _You're panicking, but there's no need to point fingers. Not a very rational thing to do now, is it?_

The Hobbit sighed to himself, trying to pull himself together. _Okay, relax. I'll just have to find Bifur myself, before Bofur, Bombur or Óin wake themselves up. I've no wish to __have a sleepless night to search this entire area for him._

As he thought to himself, a chill ran through his body when he heard the moan.

It was a small moaning sound, carried by the returning breeze, and Bilbo's ears picked up on it right away. To him, the moan was full of what sounded like pain. He turned in the direction of some bushes that stood a little away from him, and it was from there that the sound emitted.

Standing up slowly in his bedroll, though his body shook in fear as he did so, Bilbo gulped to himself as he gently padded past the sleeping Dwarves towards the bushes, praying that it was not some sort of Orc ambush waiting behind the foliage.

What Bilbo found was much worse than an Orc ambush, and try as he might to block the gruesome image out, he never could.

He had found Bifur, and from that night onwards, he wished he never did.

* * *

**A/N: **_Rasup men _- **I am okay.**

Good grief, epic long chapter. ^_^; Had some Ur feels here and there, with some Óin, too. Hopefully I shall expand more on Bifur's and Bilbo's relationships with the others, as well as the Dwarves' relationships with each other. Just to remind you, the story takes place about two weeks after Bilbo left Bag End, so it's sort of retelling of The Hobbit – trolls, elves and goblins and all. But with a difference, of course.

Reviews are welcome!

*~AI07~* :)


	5. Discovering

**Scars Beyond The Blade**

**Chapter 5: Discovering**

Bilbo's feet tread softly as he made his way towards the bush. His heart was threatening to explode in his chest, and the breeze that brushed against his body all but sent a violent shiver down his spine. All he wanted to do was to go back to his bedroll, but he knew he could not sleep until Bifur was back at his post. Besides, the sound of that ghastly moan would continuously echo in his mind and no doubt keep him up all night.

_Curse that bloody Bifur._

Trying to calm himself (and failing), the Hobbit found himself at the front of the bush. Mentally bracing for the worst (ie. an Orc attack), he reached out and pushed the leaves of the bush apart, wide enough for his body to pass through. He winced as he passed through the opening, the leaves scraping against his face …

And the moment he stepped out on the side of the bush, the first thing Bilbo saw was red.

He blinked.

_Red …_

He gasped.

_Red, the colour of blood …_

His eyes widened in shock.

… _because it _was _blood …_

A wave of nausea overcame him, and he swallowed hard.

_Blood … running in rivulets from a butchered arm and dripping onto the grass …_

He looked up slowly, his breath hitched in his throat.

_A butchered arm, with a brown but a slightly bloodstained sleeve rolled up … a crimson-coated knife blade pressed against an open cut … long, black strands of hair … an axe-blade glinting in the light of the moon …_

His wide eyes met brown eyes.

_Bifur's _eyes.

He gasped again.

_Bifur._

Bifur, sitting a few feet in front of him on a log, his left arm – his _bloody _left arm – outstretched. He was pressing the knife into his skin with the other arm. His eyes were wide open in astonishment. His mouth was open in pure shock as he stared back at the Hobbit.

In that moment, the realisation finally hit Bilbo.

_Bifur was cutting himself._

The Hobbit opened his mouth, but the scream never made it out.

A fast movement that happened in the matter of seconds: all Bilbo saw was a flash of red coming at him. He felt something grab at the front of his waistcoat, roughly pulling him forward. He felt his body whirling around before pain erupted at the back of his head and all over his back as his body hit against something hard – the base of a tree trunk, he reckoned, as he heard the rustle of disturbed leaves the moment he felt the pain. Momentarily dazed, he shook his head, blinking repeatedly to clear his blurry vision.

When his vision became clear, Bilbo found the tip of Bifur's knife pointed right in his face. It was glistening with moist blood.

The Hobbit gulped. With some effort, he tilted his aching head upwards.

Bifur stood before him, holding the knife to Bilbo's face with his right arm. The Dwarf was holding the Hobbit against the tree, gripping his waistcoat tightly with his left arm, almost clutching at the little creature's skin. Bilbo noted with horror several cuts along the whole length of that arm, oozing blood at a furious rate and running down like rain and staining the ground. Scars decorated some parts of his skin. Most of them looked recent. He almost heaved when he noticed that several red droplets had fallen onto his waistcoat.

Bifur looked positively mad. His eyes were burning bright, a fire blazing away in those crazy brown orbs. His face was ruddy. Flecks of sweat dotted his forehead and his cheeks. He growled, and Bilbo inwardly shivered as the knife came closer.

A burst of sharp Khuzdûl issued forth from the black-haired Dwarf's mouth.

Bilbo shook his head, shrinking back at the Dwarf's words. "W-what?" he stammered pathetically.

Bifur growled again. With that, he let go of Bilbo's waistcoat, though the Hobbit stayed stock-still out of raw fear, his body pressed against the tree as he if he wished it to swallow him up there and then. Bifur's gaze was fierce. The knife was still pointed towards the Hobbit.

"_Why are you awake?_" he signed furiously in Iglishmêk.

"I-I-I w-was woken u-u-up b-by –"

"_Do __**not**__ speak with a loud voice, Halfling_," signed Bifur, cutting off a rather scared Bilbo as he brought the knife right to the tip of the Hobbit's nose. The red tip glistened dangerously. "_Speak softly, or else I'll be forced to rid you of your mouth. Why are you awake? __How did you find me?__"_

Poor Bilbo's knees buckled in fear at the sheer proximity of the blade. He tried again to speak, stuttering all the while.

"I-I w-was w-woken up b-by B-Bombur's snoring, a-a-and I d-didn't suh-see y-you b-by the f-f-fire. A-And, I w-went to l-l-look f-for you ..."

"_Are you the only one awake? __You did not wake my cousins, did you, Halfling?"_

"N-no. I-I'm the o-only one awake," replied Bilbo, too scared to look Bifur in the eye. Instead, his eyes fell on the bleeding arm that was doing all the signing. Another wave of nausea overcame him as droplets of blood fell in all directions with every movement that the wild-haired Dwarf made …

"_Melek__û__n!_" Bifur suddenly barked, and Bilbo nearly jumped out of his skin. He whimpered as the knife blade was now aimed between his eyes.

"_Look at __**me**__, Master Baggins, not at my arm_," the wild-haired Dwarf signed violently. "_Look at me … there, that's right. Don't you dare and try to look away. Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Understand? Nod if you do._"

Bilbo nodded slowly, biting back another whimper. His heart beated away in his chest at a fast and furious fashion as he tried to keep eye contact and not look at the knife threatening to skewer his head.

Bifur grunted, his eyes narrowed. "_Good. Now, here's what must happen. The moment we cease speaking, I want you to turn around and walk back to the camp. There, you are to go back to your bedroll and sleep. Nod again if you understand._"

Bilbo nodded again.

"_Straight to your bedroll, mind. Do not make any noise that will wake the others up. Do not even try to wake up Bofur or Bombur or anyone else for that matter. After five minutes, I shall be returning and waking up either my cousins or Óin to take __second watch. If I find you're not asleep, or __if__ you have even hinted to my cousins beforehand about what you saw, __**I **__**will kill you**__. Understand?_"

Gulping, Bilbo nodded again.

"_Lastly,_" Bifur signed slowly, his face hard as stone, "_should you survive tonight, if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone – __Gandalf, Thorin, my cousins, whoever … if you try to tell anyone what you saw tonight …_"

He paused, breathing in deeply before looking the Hobbit dead in the eye.

"... _**I will kill myself**__._"

"W-what?" He couldn't help it, the question flying out of Bilbo's mouth before he could stop himself.

_What in the blazes did Bifur just say?_

Bifur's eyes narrowed in frustration.

"_I will kill myself,_" he signed again.

_He _did _say it. He said he was going to …_

"You … you wouldn't," replied Bilbo in disbelief, forgetting about the knife pointed at him. "You _wouldn't_ …"

"_I __**certainly **__would,_" signed Bifur with a growl.

"But _why?_ Why would you do that? You can't _do _that –"

"_Who says I can't? Why does it matter to you?_" The knife hovered closer, almost touching the skin on Bilbo's forehead. "_It's my body, isn't it? I would rather suffer at my own hands than of anyone else __here__. It hurts less, at any rate."_

Bilbo's eyebrows knitted together in utter bewilderment. "Anyone else here? What do you mean by that? Whatever are you talking about, Bifur?"

"_What did I say about speaking so loud, __Halfling?"_

But Bilbo steam-rolled ahead. _Kill himself? Cutting himself? Is this Dwarf blooming mad?! _"Why are you cutting yourself, Bifur? Why do you want to make yourself suffer like this? It is absolutely absurd! What Bofur and Bombur will think when they find out about this, I have no idea, but they'll certainly be upset. They will –"

Bifur's hand clamped hard against the Hobbit's mouth, his fingers slapping painfully against his skin. Bilbo's voice was muffled, although a whine could be heard as a drop of blood fell against his cheek. How he wanted to wipe it away, but the sight of Bifur's fierce expression as the Dwarf leaned made the poor Hobbit become still and quiet.

Bifur slowly removed his hand, trailing an index finger down Bilbo's lips to warn the Hobbit to remain silent. His brown eyes were burning with intensity.

"_They __must __**never **__know, lest you want a dead Dwarf on your __conscience__, Master Baggins,_" he slowly signed. "_If you don't want that, then I suggest keeping your mouth shut. Forget you ever saw all of this. Don't even dwell on it. I will not hesitate to use this knife on me if you mutter a word about the matter. Understand? Answer me, Halfling."_

Bilbo opened his mouth, and closed it again. His eyes were wide open in terror.

"_Halfling …_"

"I …" the Hobbit whispered, looking straight into the wild-haired Dwarf's eyes. "I don't understand why you're doing this … cutting yourself … it's … I just _don't _understand, I honestly don't. But … I can't bear you to see you like this … hurting yourself to death … if it's help you're needing, we can give it to you … your cousins, the others, Gandalf … _me _… we can help you, Bifur, if you can _please _just tell us _why_ …"

All of a sudden, Bifur's expression softened. A sadness extinguished the fire in his eyes. He breathed in deeply, reaching out and none too gently wiping away the drop of blood on Bilbo's cheek with a calloused thumb.

"_I'm beyond anyone's help, Master Baggins, including yours,_" signed the Dwarf, breathing out shakily. "_Ever since this journey began, I was too far gone …_"

A pause.

"… _and now I'm unreachable. __No one can help me. So I must pay the price … I must …_"

Suddenly, before the Hobbit could dwell on these mysterious words, Bifur's expression hardened again. He stood back, lowering the knife.

"W_e shall __not __speak of this __any longer__. Now go._"

"Bifur …" Bilbo breathed, not moving. His gaze wandered to the butchered arm: it was a sick sight indeed as the Dwarf signed.

"_**Go**__. __Your five minutes start now.__"_

The wild-haired Dwarf turned his back on the Hobbit. He squeezed his eyes shut, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall.

He never turned around to see Bilbo, who lingered for a few moments, walking back through the bush.

He never turned around until the five minutes were up.

Counting down the seconds in his head, his eyes still closed as he extended his bloodied arm, Bifur raised the knife …

* * *

It was the longest five minutes in Bilbo's life.

The Hobbit was careful not to make any noise as he slowly made his way to his bedroll. Thankfully, the Dwarves were dead to the world. Gandalf, too, was deep in sleep. Fíli and Kíli slept closely together near their uncle, who Bilbo was sure would spring up in a fighting stance if he so much as heard a twig snap. The two young Dwarves, however, were just a mass of limbs and hair, much like puppies in a pile. Balin and Dwalin slept back to back, content smiles on their faces as they dreamt of ancient halls and valuable treasures. Óin and Glóin slept near the fire: Óin had his back to Glóin, whose body was pressed against his older brother. If there was any danger, the fiery-haired Dwarf would let the deaf Dwarf know. Ori was sandwiched between Nori and Dori. The eldest Ri had made sure that Ori was all bundled up for the cold night. Still, it didn't stop Dori from holding the youngest Ri closely to him. Nori slept on his side, his hand under his pillow, where his knives rested.

As he passed them by, Bilbo stole a glance at Bofur and Bombur. The bigger Dwarf lay on his back, snoring loudly and contentedly. His older brother lay curled up against him, resting his head on his younger brother's shoulder.

Beside the hat-wearing Dwarf was Bifur's empty bedroll.

It truly hurt Bilbo, hurt him more than anything, to resist the urge to wake the brothers up, to tell them what was going on behind the bush, where their beloved cousin was cutting himself to death. It took all his will-power to close his mouth, which was hanging open in a bid to shout out the words, "Bofur! Bombur! Quick! Bifur's cutting himself, and he's threatened to kill himself, too! Hurry and stop him!"

All he could think of was Bifur's words:

_They __must __**never **__know, lest you want a dead Dwarf on your __conscience__, Master Baggins …_

_I'm unreachable._

With a heavy heart, biting back the defeated scream lingering at the back of his throat, Bilbo carefully climbed into his bedroll beside Bombur, and he waited.

He dared not close his eyes. When he did, all he could see was that arm, scarred and bleeding, which reminded him of a slaughtered pig carcass that one might find at a butchery …

Bilbo shuddered.

_Kill himself … how can he say that? Surely he won't go through with it? Bofur and Bombur will die of grief. There's no way he will leave them behind. He can't, can he …?_

It was agonising to think about, all whilst he waited for the axe-embedded Dwarf to return.

Five minutes and one second later, Bilbo heard the rustling of leaves coming from the direction of the bush.

The Hobbit curled onto his side, trying to keep his body out of sight behind Bombur's large bulk. Very quickly, he shut his eyes. The image of blood appeared before him …

Footsteps. The crunch of grass beneath heavy shoes. Becoming louder and louder as the footsteps were heading towards Bilbo …

A pause.

The Hobbit's heart sunk.

_He's here._

A long ten seconds. Bilbo could swear that the Dwarf was staring down at him now, checking closely to see if he was asleep or awake …

Then silently, very silently, a voice whispered:

"Bombur."

Bilbo heard Bifur repeat Bombur's name, albeit louder, and he heard the bigger Dwarf snore himself awake, mumble and yawn, shifting beside him as he slowly got up in his bedroll. On the other side, Bofur mumbled something in his sleep as his impromptu pillow was taken away.

The Hobbit heard Bombur whisper sleepily, "Ye ready to sleep now, Bifur? Ah, that's the way. Fever's terrible, to be sure. Ye can only do so much. That's it, ye go lie down now. I'll take over watch. See ye in the mornin'."

The Hobbit allowed himself to partially open his eyes. Bifur stood with his back to him, staring after Bombur. His left arm looked normal. His sleeve was rolled down, and the leather vambrace has been replaced. It was as if no such bloody mess existed underneath the material. In fact, the material was completely unstained, except the tainted sleeve end which the vambrace conveniently hid.

Slowly, the wild-haired Dwarf turned, without (thankfully) looking in Bilbo's direction (there was a huge gap between him and Bofur now that Bombur was gone, and it left the Hobbit exposed). Bifur climbed into his bedroll next to Bofur, and Bilbo was glad that he could not see him anymore.

Bofur stirred in his sleep, mumbling, "Bifur, ye in bed?"

An affirmative grunt sounded from the other side.

Bilbo watched as Bofur, without opening his eyes, turned on his side. His arm wrapped around what seemed to be Bifur's waist, and he pulled his cousin closer to him.

"Ye gave us a scare with yer fever," he heard the hat-wearing Dwarf mutter. "Promise me ye won't hide anythin' from Bombur and me again? We can't stand to see ye sufferin' in silence, so ye better tell us next time. Promise?"

Bilbo shut his eyes, wishing he could shut his ears too as Bifur must have made a sign in order for Bofur to say, "Thank ye, Bifur."

_Red … that's all he could see …_

* * *

**A/N: **_Melek__û__n! - _**Hobbit!**

And it keeps getting longer and longer. Sorry that this update took ages, but life kinda took over and wore me out. I love writing this story with Bifur and Bilbo, and it's lovely to see some Bifur-lovers coming out of the woodworks to support him. :) Now Bilbo knows the truth about Bifur … sort of. Why is the poor dear hurting himself?

Damn cover-art not coming along very well. Perhaps someone out there is willing to do one for me? PM if interested!

Reviews are welcome!

*~AI07~* :)


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